


Sweetest Submission

by skyeward



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: D/s, F/F, Mirror Universe, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyeward/pseuds/skyeward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the masskink meme: “In a slightly darker version of the Mass Effect universe (think along the lines of Star Trek's Mirror Verse), being a Spectre comes with certain perks. Sam is Ashley's.“</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Ashley Williams saw Samantha Traynor, she knew the woman was going to be hers.  
  
Stepping onto the Normandy didn’t feel like a homecoming at all, surrounded by shapes and lines and lights that were almost-but-not-quite familiar. It set her on edge too much to notice much, but she noticed Samantha Traynor. The curve of her jaw, the sweep of her hair, the way the confident flow of her hands over her screens turned hesitant when she turned and looked Ashley in the eye...the way her hand trembled ever-so-faintly when she finally threw a salute a few seconds later.  
  
Normally Ash would have been all over her for that - failing to salute a superior officer was not something she tended to take lightly - but in this case, she was inclined to be merciful...for the moment.  
  
Shepard returned later that evening, her usual smirk firmly in place. Ashley met her in the CIC. In full armour as usual, the senior Spectre grinned coldly at the newest one, and Ash was careful not to give away how her stomach clenched at the sudden flood of memories. Her time in service to Julian Shepard had been short but eventful, and she did not want to remember herself as so very young and weak. She had risen past that, she reminded herself, had achieved things her former CO had laughed at her for even wanting.  
  
Shepard saw her discomfort anyway, and flashed her a sharp, toothy smile.  
  
“Specialist Traynor,” the older woman said as she turned away from where Ashley stood, frozen in place.  
  
“Ma’am!” Samantha responded quickly, snapping to attention. Something tightened in Ash’s chest when she saw the way the other Spectre looked at the specialist, and her resolve to have Samantha for her own only strengthened. Ash was no longer Shepard’s property to push around, and she was going to enjoy proving it very, very much.  
  
“We’re clear to leave,” Shepard said shortly, her little ‘inspection’ complete. “Tell Joker and get us the hell out of here. I’ve got people to kill...and some batarians, while I’m at it.” Chuckling at her own joke, the Butcher of Torfan stepped into the elevator. Ashley watched her leave, then turned to look at the comm specialist, who had studiously returned her attention to her terminal.  
  
“Specialist,” Ash said softly, purposefully stepping in just a bit too close.  
  
“Ma’am?” Samantha responded, popping back to attention with just the faintest quaver in her voice.  
  
“Suppose I wanted a...tour, of the new Normandy, just about the time you get off shift. Who would you,” she paused, ducking her head in a little closer and thrilling to the sound of Sam’s sharp inhalation. “ _Recommend_ for that duty?”  
  
“Me,” Sam answered breathlessly, then paused to swallow and take a proper breath.“Ah, I mean, ‘Me,  _ma’am_ ’. I know the Normandy inside and out, so I can answer any...questions you have.”  
  
Ash moved just a tiny bit closer, until she could clearly see the other woman’s pupils grow large and her cheeks grow flushed even under dark skin. “Sounds good to me,” she breathed, and then drew back with a smirk. She drew back, snapping her heels together as she returned to attention. Sam jumped and straightened even further, looking as though her spine might snap if she were any more at attention.  
  
“When does your shift end, Specialist?” Her voice was harsh and gruff, and she grinned inwardly at Sam’s heavy swallow.  
  
“At 21:30 hours ship’s time, ma’am!”  
  
“Fine. Report to Starboard Observation at 21:30. Understood?” Ash knew full well that it would be almost impossible to actually make it within the span of that one minute, but Samantha’s reaction the order was of more interest to her. There was the briefest hesitation, the faintest flicker of ‘that’s not fair’ in dark brown eyes, and then Sam snapped off a salute.  
  
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!”  
  
Ash just smiled at her, about-faced, and called the elevator.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Communications Specialist Samantha Regan Traynor - as revealed by Ashley’s extensive exploration of Alliance channels - knocked sharply on the door of Starboard Observation at 21:30 and fifty-three seconds. The newly-made Spectre forced a smirk from her face as she opened the door, and made a show of looking from the soldier standing at attention in her doorway to the clock on her omnitool.  
  
“Very good, Traynor,” she said at last, gracing the heavily-breathing woman with a small smile. “I do like a punctual woman. Come in.”  
  
“Ma’am!” Sam tightened her salute in acknowledgement before dropping it and sidling past Ashley, who had deliberately given her only a small space to pass through.  
  
“At ease,” Ash said softly as she locked the door behind them. “Take a seat, have a drink with me.” She turned her back on the soldier in the doorway and retreated to the far corner, occupied by a narrow military-issue cot and an equally small camp table, which bore up under the weight of two heavy glass tumblers and a large spiral-shaped bottle. Trailing her fingers absently over the sensuous curves of the orange-tinted glass and admiring the way the harsh light played over it, Ashley did eventually lift the bottle to dispense the cloudy, cream-coloured liquid inside.   
  
Behind her, the room echoed in silence. With a small amused smirk twisting her mouth, Ash tipped the bottle to one of the glasses a second time before finally corking it. With a cup in either hand and a smooth expression once more on her face, she turned back around. Sam hovered just inside the doorway, feet together and arms flat against her sides.  
  
“I do believe I said  _at ease_ , soldier.” Ash put on her officer voice, snapping the last few words like an angry drill sergeant, and the nervous Specialist immediately dropped her hands to her low back, feet spreading to shoulder-width. “Now put your ass in a chair,” Ash continued sharply, then had to stifle a laugh when the other woman jumped and scrambled to take a seat. Traynor even sat military: back straight, feet together, hands lengthwise on her thighs.  
  
The Spectre covered the short distance between them in only a few steps, boot heels clicking loudly against the metal floor, and stopped beside the Specialist, a devious smirk still playing across her mouth. She waited, watching, as the small muscles in Samantha’s neck and face moved, her hands twitched, and her eyes slowly - oh so slowly - left their straight-forward attention position to settle on the blue-clad soldier.  
  
“That doesn’t look like  _at ease_!” Ashley barked as soon as the worst of the tension had left the smaller woman’s frame, her smirk only deepening at the way Samantha jumped. Slender brown limbs shifted awkwardly, feet moved apart, and hands beat a nervous tattoo against the white surface of the bench. A poor facsimile of ‘ease’, certainly, but the Spectre forgave her new toy. Sam would learn.  
  
Careful not to spill the over-full glass, Ashley handed it down to the seated woman. “Drink, Specialist,” she ordered, then hid her smile by sipping slowly from her own cup, her calm steadiness a sharp contrast to Samantha’s shaking hands and quick gulps of liquid.  
  
A moment passed in relative silence, the Specialist trembling in the Spectre’s shadow and the Spectre, in turn, watching the level of the other woman’s glass with a rapidly-growing smirk. They finished at the same time and then waited, the tension slowly rising between them. Nothing moved except Ashley’s mouth, curling into a nasty, triumphant little smile as she watched the smaller woman’s muscles - forearms, jaw, neck - clench and release as she planned and discarded a dozen things.  
  
Eventually, once the tension had built to a satisfactory level, Ash broke it.  
  
“Would you like more?”  
  
Sam jumped yet again, and Ash watched with an inward laugh as deep brown eyes darted towards her, hesitated, and then flicked upwards. She could almost see the realization dawning on the Specialist that she was right at chest height for the standing woman, could almost hear the ‘oh shit I’m looking at her breasts’ that must have flashed across the other woman’s thoughts. Finally their eyes locked, rich whiskey against dark chocolate, and Ashley allowed her smirk to spread slowly.

Sam’s blush spread much more quickly, until even the tips of her ears had taken on a faint reddish tinge under her naturally dark skin.  
  
“N-no, ma’am,” the smaller woman finally answered, and Ash was struck by the sudden, intense urge to claim those slightly-parted lips, to kiss her until their lips bled. Instead, she raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Any reason, Specialist? Do you dislike it?”  
  
“No, ma’am!”  
  
“Do you dislike drinking with me?”  
  
“No, ma’am!” With each answer, Sam’s denials grew stronger and more emphatic, while Ash’s smirk grew broader and more self-satisfied.  
  
“Then what? Would you rather a different drink?”  
  
And there, that moment of hesitation that Ash had been seeking, the glint of panic as Samantha struggled to choose between the only responses available to her.  
  
“No m-, uh yes m-, um...permission to speak freely, ma’am?”  
  
A long pause, Ash once again savouring her new pet’s discomfort.  
  
“Granted.”  
  
“Ma’am! I’m, ah...honestly not much of a drinker? Ma’am. So perhaps it’s best if I refrain.”  
  
“Perhaps it’s best if I refrain...what?” Ash moved a little closer, throwing her shadow even further over the seated woman, and Sam shrank almost instinctively away from her, hands visibly shaking around the glass in her hands.  
  
“Ma’am!” she yelped, voice suddenly much higher in pitch. Ash's hands twitched, and she leaned forward briefly, almost aching to push the smaller woman down and be done with this little game. She reined herself in with a conscious effort, forcing a calm look onto her face.  
  
Without reply, the Spectre reached down to pluck the empty cup from her subordinate's grasp. She turned back to where the bottle still rested beside her cot and poured another glass in silence, not speaking again until she'd returned to the specialist's side.  
  
"Serving on an Alliance ship with no alcohol tolerance, Specialist?” she chided with a smile that skirted the line between friendly and venomous. “I’m told that can be dangerous. What if someone decided to get you drunk and...take advantage?" She licked her lips slowly, looking the seated woman up and down.  
  
"It's not that I have no tolerance, ma'am!” Traynor protested, face red and hands held up defensively. She met Ashley’s eyes briefly, and her own widened almost comically. “I’m j-just not,” she stuttered, “N-not, you know, e-especially...fond of being d-d-drunk. I suppose. Ma’am.”  
  
She dropped her hands to her lap, twisting and rubbing them together as if scrubbing them clean, and refused to lift her eyes higher than her own knees. She did not move otherwise, the stiff muscles of her neck standing out in stark relief. Laughter bubbled up in Ash’s stomach, and she shook her head before upping the ante - she squatted at the end of the bench, putting her eyes at just about shoulder height for the seated woman, and spoke a command calmly but sharply into her ear.  
  
“Elaborate.”   
  
Sam gasped and jumped away, hands coming up defensively. The black of her darting eyes devoured the brown and she breathed in fits and starts, noisy. The Spectre just waited, one eyebrow raised, for the adrenaline to subside.  
  
“Whoever trained you in hand-to-hand should be shot,” she noted mildly, once Sam’s breathing had slowed to normal and her eyes had locked once more onto Ashley’s own.  
  
“M-ma’am?”  
  
“Your defensive stance is terrible. You move like a raw recruit. I know you’re a comm specialist, but soldiers like you make the Alliance look bad. Here, drink.” She pressed the glass she’d poured into Samantha’s hands and stood. “Once you finish that, you can take me on the tour I requested.”  
  
“Y-yes, ma’am!”

Ashley paid very little attention to the tour. Sam described the layout of the ship at length, speaking rapidly and constantly in that luxurious voice of hers. She gave details of functions and schedules and rules, mentioned shortcuts and special regulations and a little ship’s gossip...and Ash absorbed not one whit of it. The ship’s intranet existed for a reason, after all; anything germane could be found there at her leisure.  
  
Instead, Ashley paid attention to Samantha: to the way she moved and breathed and spoke, when she flinched and skittered and looked away and - more importantly - when she did not.  
  
“Alcohol makes you chatter,” Ash said, interrupting the flow of speech and drawing the specialist up short.  
  
“Ma’am?” Sam asked, drawing herself hesitantly up into a passable parade rest.  
  
“Did I stutter?”  
  
“N-no ma’am, I was simply...unaware. Of that fact. Ma’am.”  
  
“And now you are aware. Let’s continue. What is down those steps?”  
  
“The subdeck, ma’am. There’s really nothing down there, ma’am, it’s mostly storage these days. I understand it was used as quarters by a previous crewmate, as well, but she’s-”  
  
“I want to see it.”  
  
Ash interrupted, torn between pleasure at the other woman’s military precision - her eyes hadn’t so much as flickered to the side at the question or interruption - and irritation that said precision gave her no excuse to further torment her new pet.  
  
“Ma’am?”  
  
Then again, she hardly needed an excuse. She stepped in front of Samantha and stared down at the specialist silently for a long moment, face solemn. The high heels of her boots provided for a useful - and highly satisfying - height difference.  
  
“Specialist,” Ashley said coldly, clasping her hands behind her back, “That is the second time you have responded with confusion to a perfectly clear statement. Which needs examination, your brain or your ears?”  
  
“Neither, ma’am!”  
  
“Then I suggest you stop playing the fool and do as I say. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am!”  
  
A moment passed in silence, and Ashley sighed.  
  
“The subdeck, Specialist.”  
  
“M-ma’am! This way please!” Sam scurried down the metal steps, the sound of her boots echoing all around them, and snapped to parade rest in the middle of the small, red-lit space.  
  
“The engineering subdeck,” she said as Ash joined her, much more temperate on the stairs than her younger companion. A single gesture from the specialist easily encompassed the entirety of the small, red-lit space. “When the Normandy was flying Cerberus colours, this subdeck was employed as crew quarters for one Jacqueline Nought, aka Subject Zero. During retrofits it was used as miscellaneous storage, and...well, I suppose we’ve simply let it be since launch, ma’am.”  
  
“Miscellaneous?” Ashley mused, stepping past the other soldier to inspect the haphazard pile of boxes. “What kind of miscellany, exactly, is kept down here?”  
  
Sam was silent, and when the Spectre glanced back towards her, she could see the smaller woman fidgeting a little, tightening and loosening her parade rest grip on her own forearms.  
  
“Well,” she began, then paused, “I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics of each crate, ma’am, but-”  
  
Ash smirked, stepping lightly up behind Samantha, close enough to see the muscles in her neck as they tensed and relaxed.   
  
“A general idea will be sufficient, Specialist.”  
  
When Ash spoke, those neck muscles jumped and fluttered much like the woman they belonged to, who also favoured Ashley with a small, startled squeak that only fed the Spectre’s growing smirk.  
  
“I, ah,” Sam stuttered, ”That is to say...most of the things down here are, well...personal belongings, ma’am. Things left behind by former crew members.”  
  
“By Cerberus crewmembers, you mean,” Ashley clarified, her mouth so close to the curve of one brown ear that she barely needed to speak above a whisper. She watched, fascinated despite herself, as Samantha licked her lips, swallowed, opened and closed her mouth, and finally spoke. From that close she could  _smell_ the specialist - her shampoo, the musk of her skin, and the faint sweet scent of the alcohol she’d drunk.  
  
“Y-yes, ma’am,” came the eventual, whisper-quiet, answer.

“Fascinating,” Ash responded equally softly, eyes fixed on the smooth column of that brown throat as she licked her lips, moving closer for the span of a single breath. She paused, pulled away, took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, until her hands ceased their shaking and her heart stopped jumping in her chest.  
  
Then she waited. A full minute, as judged by her omnitool rather than her own unfaithful sense of time, trickled by one endless second at a time, and still Ashley forced herself into stillness, silence. Only the endless, omnipresent hum of machinery and the loud  
  
ragged sound of Samantha's breathing filled her ears until the minute clicked over and she allowed herself to speak.  
  
"Are you attracted to me?" she asked, relishing the way the specialist jumped at the sudden sound of her voice, mere centimeters from her ear.  
  
"Yes ma'am," Sam answered softly, so softly that Ash had to strain to hear her even at such close quarters.  
  
"I can't  _hear_  you!" the Spectre barked at volume, directly into the other woman’s ear. Sam yelped and flinched away from her as if from a blow, ducking her head and turning away. Ash’s fingers itched to grab her chin and force it back into place. Instead, she clasped her own hands behind her back and bellowed once more. "I asked you if you were attracted to me, soldier!"  
  
"Yes, ma'am!" Samantha shouted back, her voice high and sharp and her head snapping back into place.  
  
"Yes ma'am  _what_ , Specialist?" Ash yelled right back, her mouth so close to Sam's ear that she could have bitten it, had her self-control flagged.  
  
"Yes, I am attracted to you, ma'am!" Call and response, shout and shout, a big, scarred, angry man screaming that no Williams was going to survive his boot camp. Ashley shook her head, grounded herself in the present. No boot camp instructor had ever had in mind quite what she did.  
  
"Do you want to  _fuck_  me, Specialist?"  
  
Breath hissed sharply through two sets of lips as the two women fell silent, their voices still echoing in the small space. Eventually Sam spoke up, her volume falling to something like her normal range and a soft quaver in her tone.  
  
"Permission to-"  
  
"Denied," Ash interrupted, circling until she stood directly behind Sam, then purring into her pet’s other ear. “Now answer the question.”  
  
“I...” Samantha fidgeted. She drew deep breaths and released them slowly, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, opened her mouth and then shut it again, but she did not manage a single word for the better part of another minute. Eventually, quietly: “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“On your knees, Specialist.”  
  
Samantha obeyed without hesitation, only to be stopped by an unusually mild voice before she was halfway down.  
  
“I believe you were at  _parade rest_ , soldier?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” The specialist confirmed, clasping her arms behind her back again with a small wince as sore shoulders protested the movement. She nearly fell over twice while attempting to drop to her knees like that, but despite her clumsiness she did eventually succeed. The sound of a zipper being opened filled the small space, and Sam froze once again, grip turning white-knuckled and breathing hitching up.  
  
Out of sight, Ash grinned cruelly, watching Samantha swallow, and drew down the zipper of her other boot even more slowly.   
  
“Are you a lesbian, Traynor?”  
  
The kneeling woman opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a squeak - Ashley had interrupted her once again, this time with the zipper to her tunic-style top. The space fell silent again. Ashley occupied herself with neatly folding her tunic, pants, and underthings, while watching Samantha’s jaw work silently for a moment. Ashley had created a military-precise stack of clothes, sorted by size, by the time the other woman managed to stutter out a reply.  
  
“Y-yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Good,” the Spectre responded tersely, stepping around in front of her new pet. Without giving Sam time to respond, she grabbed the back of the kneeling woman’s head and forced that slack-jawed mouth between her thighs. “Lesbians always give the best head.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning after many moons with sub-par product, it's... me!

Samantha was aware of exactly three things: the roar of the blood in her ears, the taste of Ashley Williams on her tongue, and the agonizing throbbing between her own thighs. She tried not to think too hard, lest she falter in her... duties, but it was hard to keep her mind entirely clear, considering the situation. Four hours ago, she would never have described herself as being into, well, whatever this was. She still wasn't sure exactly what to call the whole thing, but she knew that it was nothing like anything she'd done before and that she deeply, truly, passionately enjoyed it. The state of her panties was good evidence of that; she planned to sneak them into an incinerator chute at the first opportunity, just to be sure they wouldn't show up in the laundry.

Ashley's hand tightened in her hair, a silent warning - she thought. She hadn't had the time to learn the other woman's signals yet, but she turned her full attention back to the task at hand anyway. Sam had a feeling that Ashley would not be kind if she found Sam's efforts lacking. Absurdly, the thought of what unpleasantness Ashley might visit upon her sent a new surge of heat through her belly and she very nearly squirmed in place as a drop of wetness tickled its way slowly down the inside of her thigh.

Above her, Ashley grunted softly, fingers tightening in her hair, and then thrust once against her open mouth before drawing away, leaving Sam kneeling there wet-faced and trembling. She couldn't see her own face, but could only imagine what a sight she made. Ashley smirked down at her, somehow still entirely in command despite being stark naked, and somehow Samantha could feel yet more heat rising up her neck and face.

"Stay," Ashley ordered, turning away, and Sam stayed. Her knees were beginning to ache from the cold metal floor and she was so turned on that she thought she might just spontaneously orgasm if Ashley so much as breathed on her, but she stayed right where she was with her eyes fixed on the far wall and her arms held at parade rest.

She wanted to say she had no idea how she'd gotten into this situation, but the truth was that she'd been fully aware of each step she took. Sure, Ashley was easily the most attractive woman she'd ever seen, and sure she had that incredible aura of power, but... she'd left outs, one after another, places where Sam could have stepped back and said 'no', or simply failed to respond and ended the whole thing. But she hadn't. She hadn't even wanted to. Not that she'd known exactly what she was throwing herself headlong into, but not even to herself could she pretend she hadn't wanted every bit of it.

Ashley stepped back in front of her, fully-dressed and immaculate, and Sam barely managed to keep her eyes on the far wall.

"On your feet," the Spectre snapped, and once again Sam struggled to change positions without dropping parade rest - and now with the added bonus of being stiff and excruciatingly aroused. Just as before, Ashley watched impassively.

"As much as I would like to continue this right here and now, some of us have work to do. Follow me to my quarters. Do not look at or speak to anyone unless I give you permission. Understood?"

"Ma'am yes ma'am!" The words were out of Sam's mouth before she really took the time to understand what was being asked of her, but realistically she was far enough gone that she'd have agreed to just about anything. Not looking at or talking to anybody for the extremely short walk between here and Starboard Observation was nothing, really.

Or it should have been, anyway, except that when the doors to the elevator opened, there stood Shepard. Sam immediately dropped her eyes to the toes of her boots, acutely aware of her orders, her disheveled hair, and particularly the slickness coating her cheeks and chin that she hadn't been given leave to wipe off.

"Evening, Ash. Specialist Traynor." Shepard greeted cooly, although Sam could almost feel those glowing red eyes on her.

"Shepard." Ashley answered curtly. Sam said nothing, although she shook with the effort of it. If Ashley's aura was commanding, Shepard's was downright intimidating, and she wanted nothing more than to either fall back on regs or run away and hide. But Ashley had given her a command, and despite her fear she wanted to follow it, wanted to see where this whole thing lead to.

Shepard, luckily, had nothing to say about her silence, and Sam exited the elevator in Ashley's wake and followed her down the hall without further incident.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Inside Starboard Observation, Ashley's first move was to lock the door behind her. Her second was to order Sam to strip.

"Is there a problem, Specialist?" she asked sharply when Sam hesitated.

"N-no ma'am," Sam stuttered, and Ashley took a step closer to her, eyes narrowed. Sam could hardly breathe as she met those eyes, their color so soft but their gaze so sharp. Her hands shook. She wanted to obey, she truly did, but... to strip herself bare in front of this woman? In front of a woman whose perfectly-sculpted body she'd just been witness to, a woman who might do who-knew-what to her? Either the embarrassment or the fear alone might not have been enough to stop her, but the two combined were more than enough to keep her arousal in check.

"Then why are you failing to obey a direct order, Specialist? Are you afraid, is that it?"

Sam almost whimpered when she opened her mouth to answer; she managed to keep that in, but her voice squeaked in a very undignified manner all the same.

"Yes ma'am."

Ashley scoffed and turned away.

"Why they let soft civilian-types like you onto an active military warship, I will never know. You have two choices, Specialist Traynor: you can take your clothes off immediately, or you can leave. Your choice."

She didn't want to do either of those things, and swallowed heavily. But she wanted one of them even less than the alternative.

"Yes ma'am," Sam murmured, hands still shaking as she raised them and began to undo the buttons of her top.

She undressed slowly, trembling all the while, as Ashley watched her with a largely unreadable expression. The flash in her eyes when Sam made to drape her shirt across the back of the bench, though, was as clear as day - Sam folded the shirt, and the pants, and everything else she took off. Even her sopping, ruined panties were folded per regs and set atop the pile of other clothes.

Eventually she stood in the middle of the room as naked as the day she was born, shaking like a leaf in the cool air, and waited for what came next.

"Parade rest," Ashley barked after a few seconds of silent observation, and Sam snapped to. Arms behind her back, hands clasping forearms, feet shoulder width apart and eyes forward. She immediately wished she hadn't when the cool air flowed between her naked thighs, her most intimate places fully exposed to the open air and to Ashley's appraising eyes. The Spectre made no secret of where she was looking, nor did she attempt to conceal the cocky smirk that twisted her lips.

A million thoughts raced through Samantha's mind in a torrent that set her heart to thumping painfully in her chest. What did Ashley think of her, of her body? She was softer than Ashley, not battle-ready, probably not even up to the standards of the laziest marines. She hadn't so much as trimmed her body hair since before leaving Earth - between five-minute shower times and a general lack of interest in the whole concept, shaving had falling entirely off of her routine.

But how did Ashley, with her hard muscles, smooth skin, and neatly-trimmed pubic hair, feel about Sam's soft thighs or the thick, coarse hair that covered her sex and trailed up onto her lower belly? Never in her life had she been ashamed of her heritage, but it wasn't like she was immune to the jokes about Indian girls and body hair.

"Good," Ashley said, approval clear in her voice, and something in Sam's chest relaxed abruptly. "Now stay."

And then she walked away, boot heels clicking smartly on the floor. Sam couldn't see what she was doing without turning her head, nor was the glass of the window reflective enough to really see anything, so in the end she just stood there staring into space and listening to herself breathe. In the background, the firm tap of Ashley's heels against the floor wandered back and forth, echoing in the enclosed space until she gave up trying to pinpoint the other woman's location. Instead, trying to stem the anxiety rising like bile in her chest, she focused on her breathing. In and hold, out and hold, a pattern to center herself on. In and hold, out and hold-

Something touched her.

It was a light, soft touch, across the small of her back, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, flinching and grasping harder at her forearms to make sure she didn't drop from parade rest. Only the fact that she'd been exhaling kept her from crying out.

The touches continued apparently without regard for her flinching, gloved hands stroking her belly, her arms, her back, the outsides of her thighs. It was almost soothing, except for the part where it sent tingles of electricity shooting straight to her belly. She felt herself shaking again, felt her breath hissing sharply from between her lips as she waited for... something. Anything.

Ashley's body, fully clothed, pressed against her from behind, pinning her arms to the small of her back. Ashley's hand, still wearing its warm and supple leather glove, came up her front, fingertips sliding from her lower belly upwards between her breasts, over her collarbone, until eventually it curled around the front of her throat. Ashley didn't grasp, didn't squeeze, didn't compress her airway at all; just rested one hand there as Sam's pulse beat wildly against her palm. Sam swallowed and then shivered again as the motion pressed her vulnerable throat against the menacing hand. She didn't think Ashley would hurt her, not really, but...

Before she had time to think too hard about it, the other hand slipped purposefully between her thighs, parted the hair there, and executed a single firm stroke against her stiff and aching clit.

Sam bucked, gasped, arched forward until the only thing keeping her standing upright was the hand against her throat, and came with a frankly humiliating little whimper.

\- - - - - - - - - -

She hung like that for a second, gaping like a fish out of water, until a gentle but insistent pressure on her throat brought her back to herself. Ashley's hair draped across her bare back and shoulder and a soft voice spoke in her ear, the warm breath against her skin making her shiver.

"I believe you were at parade rest, soldier."

Still shaking and unsteady and gulping for air, her legs ready to give out at any second - a situation not helped by the humiliating sensation of her own wetness that had run as far down as the inside of her right knee - Sam forced herself to straighten up. The hand at her throat stayed where it was, the other withdrawing from between her thighs. By scent alone she could track it to her right side and up, up...

She'd never heard the sound of a woman licking arousal off the tips of leather gloves, but it was unmistakable. Her desire, banked sharply by a much-needed orgasm, flared to life all at once, and Sam groaned involuntarily. Ashley chuckled darkly in her ear.

"How many times do you think I could make you come before you passed out?" she asked softly, and Sam's entire body gave a violent shiver. Ashley's free hand returned to her inner thigh, fingertip swirling through the copious moisture painting the tender skin. "Twice?" she continued, cupping Sam's crotch possessively, "Three times? Or would you collapse if I let you go right now?"

She didn't wait for an answer. The heel of her hand pressed upwards, grinding mercilessly into Sam's clit and shoving her over the edge for a second time. Tears welled up in her eyes as the pressure built and released, another burst of wetness filling Ashley's palm. But the Spectre didn't stop. As Sam whimpered and squirmed and struggled with all her might to stay upright, knowing fingers tormented her with two more orgasms in rapid succession. By the third time she came, tears were running freely down Sam's cheeks. By the fourth time, her vision was filled with stars and she was almost too focused on staying conscious to even feel the pleasure racing through her veins.

Just when she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was absolutely going to pass out, Ashley withdrew entirely.

Suddenly cold and unsteady, Sam forced herself to straighten up yet again. Her toes ached from curling against the hard metal floor; her hands and shoulders and forearms ached from holding parade rest; her jaw ached from clenching her teeth to hold back her cries.

Ashley came around to stand in front of her, wiping her gloves clean with a small towel, and stepped up close enough that Sam could feel the Spectre's breath on her cheek again.

"As a Spectre," Ashley murmured in her ear, "I am entitled to conscript one person, civilian or military, into my personal service. That person is mine and serves only me, answers only to me, until one of us dies or is released from service."

Sam nodded slightly; she was vaguely familiar with the concept.

"I am giving you a choice," Ashley continued, fingers trailing once again down Sam's side and over her hip. "Tell me, who do you belong to, Specialist Traynor?" Ashley asked, soft and low. Sam barely hesitated at all. She had no idea what this entailed, not really, but she had never wanted anything more.

"To you, ma'am," she all but moaned.

"Say my name. Tell me who you belong to." Sam hesitated a little longer this time; there was something insistent, something strange and demanding in Ashley's voice that she wasn't really sure that she understood. But Ashley was there, strong and steady in front of her, one hand curling around the back of her neck now in an oddly comforting gesture, and Sam decided that she didn't particularly care what else was going on. She wanted to belong to Ashley Williams.

"I belong to Lieutenant-Commander Ashley Williams, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

Fingers dug into the back of her neck and lips pressed softly to her throat, curling into what felt like a smile.

"Good."

And then the light on the door changed from red to green and Commander Shepard stepped through.

**Author's Note:**

> A story from kmeme that I’ve been working on for a while. It’s slow going and honestly the first 4500 words or so needs to be completely redone, but this feels like a solid first chapter with some pretty good closure. I struggled a lot with trigger warnings because the consent given strikes me as iffy. In the end I decided to mark it dubcon, even though I hate that category, because while consent is given…well, unless you’re me and wrote this knowing that Sam really enjoyed herself, it looks rather coerced. Plus there’s no safeword. Please feel free to drop me a line if you have questions or concerns about my tagging.


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